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Denial of truth and trust issues are the recurring themes in
American film-maker Brad Anderson’s movies. His protagonists often have something
to hide: a dark past or a life-changing secret. In “Happy Accidents” (2000), the
central character reveals to his lover that he is a time traveler from the year
2470. In “Session 9” (2001), the protagonist’s homicidal paranoia uncovers a dark
secret. In “Machinist” (2004), Christian Bale’s insomniac, factory worker
character starts to question his own sanity and seeks the truth about the
bizarre things happening to him. In the mediocre, ‘Shutter Island-wannabe’
thriller “Stoneheart Asylum” (2014), once again the plot hinges on the dark
past of its maniac hero. Of course, Brad Anderson neither scales profound
depths to impeccably realize his themes nor his characters arise out of the
confined genre formulas, but his films do provide fine entertainment (Anderson’s
“Vanishing on 7th Street” (2010) and “The Call” (2013) are archaic
genre piece, which didn’t interest me). And,
Anderson always tries to put his psychologically perplexed protagonist through
different genres. In his less talked about and twist-filled thriller, “Transsiberian”
(2008), the director concocts a train odyssey which is loaded with Hitchcockian
overtones.

Except for the last twenty minutes, “Transsiberian” remains
as a dynamic thriller about human weakness and strengths, set against a
beautiful, refreshing as well as a stark backdrop. The film opens in
Vladivostok, Russia, where narcotics division detective Grinko (Ben Kingsley)
investigates a drug-related homicide. The drugs and money from the safe of
a small time drug dealer seems to be missing. Then, we are introduced to American
couple, Roy (Woody Harrelson) and Jesse (Emily Mortimer), who are in Beijing
for a church-based mission. Roy looks like a gregarious and unbelievably upbeat
guy, whereas Jesse is more introverted and happier to watch people through her
camera lens (she takes fine photographs). Their mission in Beijing is over and
the priest gives a sendoff speech that goes “ours is not a gray world. Under
the bright light of truth, it is a world of clear contrasts”. Jesse doesn’t
seem to believe in this, which tells us that there might be some dark truths
within, entrenched in her psyche.

Roy, the train enthusiast, wants to have grand adventure with
his wife, riding in the Transsiberian Express on a six day trip – from Beijing
to Moscow. Jesse is happy for him, although not as jubilant as Roy, who hoots
at the arrival of every station. Nevertheless, Jesse’s interest picks up when a
younger couple arrive to their cabin. Carlos (Eduardo Noriega) is a
charismatic, smooth-talking Spaniard who immediately gains Jesse’s attention. His
much younger partner Abby (Kate Mara) wears heavy eyeliner and gives a vacant
stare which obviously hints at a darker past. As Roy goes on making friends or
at least grins at everyone he meets on the train, Carlos’ blatantly inviting
foibles, in a way, appeases the bad girl within Jesse. At one point, Jesse and
Abby have a conversation about their past mistakes, and Jesse admits her
dilemma about starting a family with Roy (who has rescued her from those
mistakes). Apart from prodding Jesse, Carlos too has a secret in the form of
Russian nesting dolls. Soon, Roy gets separated from Jesse, and our conflicted
heroine travels more into the darkness. Detective Grinko and his shady partner
Kolzak (Thomas Kretschmann) are trying to follow the activities of these four
to fulfill their own secret purpose.

The basic premise of “Transsiberian” is mounted on an
age-old Hollywood cliche: if you are an American tourist traveling through economically
bedraggled nations, trust nobody. And in thrillers like this, coincidences
always wait around the corner to diffuse new twists. Director/writer Anderson
(co-writer Will Conroy) doesn’t transcend these pitfall elements, but he has
delivered enough tension and developed the characters well (up to a point) that
we don’t concentrate much on this inherent banality. A lot of dialogues in the
movie are well-written and perfectly forwards the characters’ thoughts. Tennesse Williams’ “Kill of all my demons, and
my angels might die, too” and Grinko’s wisdom “With lies, you may go ahead in
the world, but you may never go back” are some of the lines worthy of quoting. The
significant aspect of Anderson’s script is how he brings out the thriller
elements through Jesse’s characterization rather than through false ciphers.
The truth about Carlos is pretty evident when he shows Jesse those dolls (at
least for me), but unlike most thrillers, the writer is rounding up the primary
characters’ emotional arc rather than throwing in fresh twists. And, for the
large part the twists are natural, which were all little wasted by the unnecessary
Hollywood heroics in the film’s last twenty minutes.

In a way, director Brad Anderson must have known that his basic
story is a cliche. He may have jokingly addressed this towards the ending. As
Roy is shoved by Grinko for interrogation, he snivels “but we’re Americans!” It
is a chuckle-worthy moment, where the director seems to say that we are in for
a happy ending, however the stark the situation is for the American couples. The
well-constructed suspense and psychological dilemmas are eventually overthrown
to show the American bravado through a bothersome train stunt. Emily Mortimer
as Jesse flawlessly digs into her flawed, nesting doll-like character, but few
of Jesse’s actions in the end (to provide that final twist) simply annoy the
viewers. Despite wearing the cloak of
train-based thriller, it is evident that Anderson wanted “Transsiberian” to be
a morality tale about the devastating consequences that follow a person, who
fails to take responsibility for their actions. Still, Jesse hiding a vital
truth from Roy and imparting a truth on Abby (Abby finding ‘things’ at that crumbling,
snow-covered church is too much of a happy ending) makes us question the
characters’ prevailing morals. The directorial skills of Anderson don’t have
such flaws as he brings a crackling vibrancy to the proceedings. Mr. Anderson,
who had made similar train journey in his younger years, has really down well
in shooting at real locations. His framing of the geography and journey adds a
lot to the threatening mood and mystery.

Trailer

“Transsiberian” (112 minutes) is a slow-burning thriller that
is well characterized and engrossing enough to make us look past the obvious
cliches. If it had avoided that awkward hand-wringing in the climax, it would
have been a more impressive thriller.

Taiwanese auteur Tsai Ming-liang has told the story of one
man, Hsiao-Kang (always played to perfection by Lee Kang-sheng) in his ten
feature films. Deteriorating urban settings is his recurring cinematic
landscape, while his characters remain silent & dislocated and seemed to
have been relegated to fringes of society or fallen through the cracks of it.
Tsai’s works (or the so-called narrative) contemplates upon the same themes
like urban isolation, failure to communicate and failure to realize sexual
desires. Tsai’s visual staple often includes water: heavily pours in the form
of rain or trickles, splashes and gurgles through filthy sewers and flooded floors. Few minutes into his movie, you can clearly understand that Tsai isn’t so intent on telling a story. He is so
fascinated in showcasing his lonesome characters’ small life experiences and
sensations that we are often left to watch the silent souls perform their routine
activities like eating, smoking, bathing, gazing, etc. And all the episodically
visualized, unique work started back with his feature-film debut “Rebels of the
Neon God” (“Qing shao nian nuo zha”, 1992). ‘Rebels…..’ is Tsai’s easily accessible film because there’s a semblance of a narrative and lot of camera
movements. It’s also my opinion that the auteur’s work can be perfectly savored
by watching life of Hsiao-Kang in chronological order – starting with
‘Rebels……’ (however, it is not necessary since his works also operates as stand-alone
features).

New York Times Critic A.O. Scott stated that “Rebels of the
Neon God marks the start of one of the modern cinema’s great careers”. He
couldn’t have been more right. Tsai’s study of Taipei teenagers snaking through
arcade games, roller skate rinks, night markets, seedy motels and tutorial
centers works as an impeccable rebuttal statement to romanticized coming-of-age
movies, where pop-culture influences are often evoked to pay homages. In the
debut-feature, Tsai deconstructs the references of pop-culture with a
remarkable clarity that all the youthful proclivities seem to be the end result
of perpetual isolation in urban landscapes. Tsai’s vision, of course, isn’t
limited to youth; he also explores the soul-sucking side of globalization;
futile future plans of older generation and their emotional confusion; and the
universal frustration of not getting acknowledged (this themes is very much
relevant now, because don’t we sometimes become crazy over few ‘likes’ and
‘unanswered messages’?).

The film opens with an image that seems to tell a lot about
arduous city life. A pair of youngsters gets into phone booth to escape from
the torrential downpour. But these guys are not fleeing from the deluge of
desolated life; they are also surviving by breaking into the payphone to get
loose changes. The troubled youths are Ah-Tze (Chen Chao-jung) and Ah-Bing (Jen Chang-bin), who seems to have no other interest beyond committing petty crimes
and playing arcade games. They also try to be iconic cool guy by riding in
macho motorbikes. When we first see Hsiao-Kang (Lee Kang-sheng) he stabs a
cockroach with his compass point and then throws it out of his window. Alas,
the cockroach seems to have surfaced on the other side of his glass window
pane. Now, he tries to swat the cockroach and hits it so hard that the glass
pane breaks, injuring his arm. He goes to bathroom to wash off the blood from
his hands and mother asks Hsiao-Kang “Do you have nothing better to do with
yourself?” These simple sequences might seem insignificant, but it pretty much
points out the characters’ nature and the path they are going to traverse
through.

Hsiao-Kang is a very silent student, enrolled for a course
at a tutorial school and drives a small scooter. His working class parents
(father, a taxi driver) are so bothered by their son’s minimal social skills
and lack of ambition. Mother visits a local priestess, who has told that
Hsiao-Kang might be reincarnation of legendary god Norcha (the god who had
troubled relationship with his father). Ah-Tze lives in a bedraggled apartment
with his older brother (whose face we never see), where he often tries to plug
up the leaking drain. He masturbates to the sound of his brother having sex
with a girl named Ah-kuei (Wang Yu-wen). Soon, Ah-kuei joins the thieiving duo
in their nighttime journey through malls, restaurants and arcade. While riding
in the taxi with his father, Hsiao-Kang sees Ah-tze and Ah-kuei on the cool
motorbike. For the young tutorial-course-studying guy, Ah-tze seems to be the
cool, independent guy with a girlfriend. Later, at a traffic signal, due to
minor altercation Ah-tze vandalizes the taxi of Hsiao Kang’s father. Now, the
silent boy decides to become vengeful god 'Norcha' and wreak havoc upon the
motorbike dude. Of course, this simple pursuit is delicately realized through
neo-realistic grit and artistic panache.

Film-maker Tsai pays
homage to Nicolas Ray’s classic teenager movie “Rebel without a Cause”
(Hsiao-Kang looks at James Deen poster hanging at video arcade store), but
“Rebels of Neon God” is something more than a genre piece. He subtly showcases
the contrasts between two youths, although he isn’t so intent on making both
his characters sympathetic. The motivation behind Hsiao-kang’s unnerving
aggression is never clearly explained (does he feel jealous over Ah-kuei?) nor
the shaky familial background or the socioeconomic condition of Ah-tze. As Tsai
tells in an interview: “I am not passionate about ‘storytelling’. I approach
movies more in the prosaic, poetic way”. And, there’s a lot of poetry and
profound metaphors beneath what looks like a simple despair of youths. All of
the standout moments in Tsai’s works are visual. A cigarette butt, beer can and
a sandal float in the leaked drain, inside Ah-tze’s apartment’, and gradually
the water recede, leaving those objects at the same space. I can’t exactly
figure out the liquid metaphor here, but it appears to symbolize the daily
lives of those three youngsters, filled with pop-culture excesses. Another
excellent visual moment happens when Ah-tze kisses Ah-kuei in an unrefined
manner at the sleazy motel sofa. On the TV next to them, a woman artfully
embraces a man in a commercial, which acutely broods upon the contrast between
romanticized and real images. If at times the film-makers’ characters tend to speak up their thoughts, it may be to realize (unusual) sexual thoughts (Ah-ping
asks Ah-tze to seat Ak-kuei between them at the movie screening to ‘enjoy
smelling her’) or pleasures.

The ‘no-cause’ journey of the movie’s rebels is a bit
different from Nicolas Ray’s 1955 classic. Although the film’s title may refer
to Hsiao-kang mother’s belief in the reincarnated mythological god ‘Norcha’,
the titular god is evoked through the glowing images of neon light arcades. Tsai
makes us observe the pious worship of these neon figures by youngsters in
public spaces. Those spaces become everyone’s springboard to unload
fantasy-driven violence. Gradually, the emptiness perpetuated by the Western
Culture’s digitized objects becomes the central point. The fantasy violence of
the games is mixed with ancient beliefs in Hsiao-kang’s quest for revenge. As
always, the inspired real action or the unreal, button-pressing games, both never
fills the void haunting them. Take the scene, when Hsiao-kang hoots
and dances at his hotel bed in underwear after fulfilling his revenge. He
eventually hits his head, falls on the bed and slowly the sullen look returns. Tsai consistently employs long shots to see nothing romantic
about the actions of Hsiao-kang or Ah-tze. Film-makers often tend to see
masculinity and violence through a romanticized lens or depict its aftermath on
others. But, in Tsai’s works, small acts of violence and showcase of
masculinity hollows out the perpetrator as much as the victim. This adamant
approach to characterization and visuals may slightly veer Tsai’s films towards
parody or pomposity, although there’s enough naturalistic context and
thoughtful aesthetics to nullify such tiny imperfections.

Trailer

“Rebels of the Neon God” (102 minutes) is a subtle, profound
and distanced observation of urban alienation, broken love and youthful
malaise. The delicacy with which the modern cinematic master Tsai Ming-liang
mounts his visuals demands a patient and contemplative mindset from cinephiles.

On screen, Hollywood likes to showcase its heroes standing up
against injustice, although the industry’s notorious off-screen injustices
had rarely been a talking point. The story of Hollywood blacklist haven’t been
addressed much in American cinema and if so, the dark period of McCarthyism is
confined to the court-walls, where the footage of prominent celebrities being
asked ‘Are you now or have ever been a …..?’ is shown. Jay Roach’s“Trumbo”
(2015) offers a fine perspective on the alleged ‘Red Menace’ inside Hollywood.
Even though the director Jay Roach had been known for films like “Meet the
Parents” & “Austin Powers”, he is restrained and earnest in this particular portrayal
of the mid 1940’s to early 1960’s Hollywood.

After the surrender of fascist powers at the end of WW II,
democratic America and communist Soviet Union whipped up the political climate
by making it to be a contest for ideals. Immediately, the ideals that were were received or tolerated in the name of democracy became UN-American. The House of UN-American Activities Committee started their investigation on alleged dark clouds of communism and gained nation-wide attention by inquiring upon famous actors, screenwriters and
film-makers. In “Trumbo”, a committee spokesperson declares “Movies are the
most powerful influence ever created” and with such statements, the creative
liberty of honest writers were scanned over invisible ‘red menace’. The public
hearings involving the era’s greatest celebrities paved way to marvelous
political theater, but the blacklisted writers and other film personalities
went through decades of unemployment and banishment. Novelist and screen writer
Dalton Trumbo (1905-76) is one of the significant and defiant screenwriters of
that period, who despite all the agitation faced, never wavered from his belief
in free speech.

The first time we see Trumbo (Bryan Cranston) on-screen he
is sitting and thinking at his favorite place: a bathtub with a half-smoked
cigarette. Once he gets an idea, he whirls into frenzy by clicking into the
typewriter. In the early 1940’s Trumbo had been the most acclaimed and
highest-paid screenwriter, who is always involved with Oscar-winning hit films.
He was busy writing poetic dialogues for Edward G. Robinson’s (Michael
Stuhlbarg) gangster pics and signing up contracts with MGM. Trumbo had
been a member of the American communist party and with the brewing Cold War, he
was instantly identified as Communist sympathizer. The alleged Red Terror in
Hollywood is shown to be personified by columnist Hedda Hopper (Helen Mirren)
and famous star John Wayne (David James Elliott). When Trumbo and his
screenwriter buddies refuse to testify before the UN-American activities
committee, they are blacklisted (known as ‘Hollywood 10’), their contracts
nullified and eventually sent to prison.

Trumbo’s family is composed of a loving and supportive wife
Cleo (Diane Lane) and three kids – the strongest and challenging of them is the
eldest Nikola (Elle Fanning). Upon his release, Trumbo starting using
pseudonyms to crank out cheap scripts for King Brothers’ (John Goodman &
Stephen Root) low-budget flicks. He also secretly sells his screenplays to
studio writers, which are made to movies like “Roman Holiday” (1953) and “The
Brave One” (1957) and even fetched screen-writing Oscars. Trumbo’s streak of
egotism, desperate steps to stay afloat financially, combined with
contradictory virtue of selflessness does temporarily break him up from wife
and kids (fueled by booze & pills). However, his patient struggle to end
the blacklist gets under limelight as Kirk Douglas (for Spartacus) and Otto
Preminger (Exodus) promptly & publicly credits him for his amazing script
writing talent.

Bryan Cranston’s
elegant and witty performance as Trumbo serves as the anchor point for
narrative, which was otherwise riddled with biopic bromides. The actor finely
brings out the inherent contradiction to Trumbo’s nature: lectures like a
radical and lives like an autocrat; an elitist writing for the masses. But,
Cranston never makes this conflicting force of Trumbo to make him a cynical figure.
He adopts the screenwriter’s rough, deep manner of speech, although it never
becomes a mere impersonation. From the performances perspective, apart from
Cranston, “Trumbo” offers a whole lot of scene-stealing presences. Part of the
delight in those performances is seeing actors playing well-known personalities
like John Wayne, Robinson, Otto Preminger and Kirk Douglas. Some of the actors
playing such renowned persons don’t look like them, but there are reasonable
facsimiles to make it feel authentic. The best of all famous personality cameos
belongs to Christian Berkel’s overbearing Preminger (and let’s also not forget
the baseball bat bashing sequence of Goodman).

Director Roach had done well with the evocation of vintage
Hollywood and mixes quite a few old news reels (featuring Humphrey Bogart,
Lauren Bacall, etc) to a good effect. But, both Roach and screenwriter John
McNamara is often caught between the efforts to broaden their canvas and detailing
the events of Trumbo’s life. So, the occasional phony biopic elements are
pushed up to concentrate on the central character, while losing its focus on
other significant players. When Arlen Hird (a composite character of many
real-life screenwriters, played by Louis C.K.) asks Trumbo, “Do you have to say
everything like its going to be chiseled in rock?”, we are hinted at how
writers are so invested in their cause that they neglect a lot of things around
them. However, neither Arlen Hird nor his contemplative question is never profoundly
dealt with. Instead, we get a typical familial tribulation which is resolved
with a simple, sentimental sequence.Despite
such little bumpy turns, the heart of “Trumbo” is at the right place and so we
get a potent sense of how heroic the screenwriters really were in those oppressive
times (the final inspirational speech diffuses a poignant feeling). And, for
those who learn or approach historical moments through cinema, “Trumbo”
perfectly entertains as well as enlightens.

Trailer

Despite stumbling into moments of didacticism, “Trumbo” (124
minutes) remains as the compelling and lively account of Hollywood’s blacklist
era. The mixture of heroism, idealism and self-obsession Cranston brings to his
titular character is a reason enough to watch the film.

Aren’t our lives like smoke that dissipates, leaving
bittersweet aftertaste on the memories of those we love/loved or got acquainted
with?In that way, great movies could
also be compared with smoke, leaving traces of pleasure to savor for all our
lives. Similarly, Wayne Wang’s“Smoke” (1995) posesses the unhurried pace of a good life and
uses the hook of a narrative to ponder over the mysteries of human condition,
which subsequently leaves a strange and fascinating after taste in our mind
& heart. “You’ll never get it if you
don’t slow down, friend” says a central character in the film and that pretty
much comes off like a warning to those expecting a hastened drama with nicely
dressed-up resolutions. “Smoke” is an episodic, contemplative and amazingly
vibrant movie about strange coincidences and inexplicable changes.

Written by novelist Paul Auster and set in the early 90’s
Brooklyn, the film follows a formula used in Robert Altman’s “Shortcuts”
(1993). However, the tangible emotions injected into the script by deft direction
and an excellent ensemble doesn’t make it a derivation. The inherent gentle
nature of the film also brings to our mind the movies of masterful film-makers
Yasujiro Ozu & Wim Wenders. In “Smoke”, the central place that brings
together the seemingly random characters is a cigar store, situated at a corner
of the Brooklyn neighborhood, managed for 14 years by Auggie Wren (Harvey Keitel). Auggie is natural born story teller and loves to converse with his
customers, while selling them quality cigars. Paul Benjamin (William Hurt) works as a
storyteller. He is a novelist, whose life is filled with despair after the
death of his beloved wife in a random shoot-out. In an earlier sequence, Auggie
shows his good, friendly customer Paul his life’s work: a massive collection of
photographs neatly stacked in albums, and all are taken outside his shop at the
same time (8:00 am), every day for the past 14 years.

Paul hurries through the album, saying ‘it’s all the same’.
Auggie replies that aforementioned, beautiful line “You’ll never get it, if you
don’t slow down”. Now, Paul slows down and sees his dead wife, walking to work,
in one of the photographs. He cries over and something is changed within him in
that little moment and strange meeting. Paul is also saved from a traffic
accident by a 17 year old drifter Thomas aka Rashid Cole (Harold Perrineau). He
offers the young man a lemonade and that if Rashid wants, he can stay at his
place for a day or two. Rashid is one the quest to track down his father, Cyrus
Cole (Forest Whitaker), who was long presumed to be dead. He finds his father
running a run-down garage and asks for work. When Cyrus asks for Rashid’s name,
he says ‘Paul Benjamin’. One day, out of the blue, Auggie’s ex-girlfriend
(Stockard Channing) meets him at the shop to seek his help to save her
drug-addict daughter (Ashley Judd), who may be Auggie’s daughter too. Describing
the character nature or lives of these people with words, may not make us to
forge an emotional bond with them, but the adorable low-key performances along
with a humanistic script really offers a touching experience.

Much of the dramatic events in the characters’ life happens
off-screen or seems to have happened in the past, and so there’s no plot to
speak of. Like when Paul slows down and appreciates Auggie’s collections for
what it is, we would accept the movie’s beauty by not searching for narrative
trajectory. Of course, not all of the situations or characters keep on giving
us the resplendent feeling. There are quite a few contrived, melodramatic or
idling sequences, but for the most part of running time, the events aren’t
forced or remain totally unnatural. Director Wayne Wang and Paul Auster had
worked in harmony to bring out their unified vision in realizing each of the
simple sequences. If the excellent cast brings the extraordinary emotional
catharsis in the many occasions, it is Wang and Auster, who makes us to
genuinely feel for characters and to relate with their pains & dilemmas.

Two stories serve as bookend in “Smoke’s” narrative. The one
at the opening is told by Paul to Auggie about aEnglish man, who had tried to weigh the smoke
from a cigarette; and the story at end is told by Auggie to Paul, which is a
Christmas story involving a thief, a old blind grandmother, a missing wallet
and a stolen camera. And, if the first is about elusive nature of life and the
things we miss in life (but can’t say what it is), then the last one (delivered
in a brilliant monologue by Keitel) is about mysteries of chance meeting or the
necessary lies we tell ourselves to make something out of life. Whatever, these
two stories are about it celebrates the power of storytelling. In some manner,
the stories told by the characters might be neat concoction of lies, but still
they reveal some deeper truths about the human condition. Paul Auster’s script
ruminates on how our past experiences and thoughts like smoke becomes
immaterial wisps, floating around us. It also talks about the impermanent
nature of human lives. Auggie’s camera is fixed at a place and captures people
day-to-day. It may seem nothing on a outward glance, but a closer look reveals
a lot. The photographs become a witness of life moving by before our very own
eyes. Eventually, “Smoke” is about celebrating the little moments and small
coincidences, which may bring out huge changes in our lives.

Trailer

“Smoke”(108 minutes) is a subtle and finely textured study
of a community and its people. It emphasizes on the significance of story
telling and the strength of being connected with fellow human beings.

Irish Canadian author Emma Donoghue’s novel “Room” is about
a five year old boy with the name Jack, being held captive with his mother in a
small room, a 10’* 10’ garden shed. Donoghue got the idea for ‘Room’ from the ‘Fritzl’
case in Austria. A man named ‘Josef Fritzl’ was discovered to have kept his
daughter in his house’ cellar for nearly 24 years. However, the writer’s
intention was not to showcase the vivid details of the case or to deal with
aspects of sexual abuse. She rather unfolds the story from a 5 five year old boy's
view. And gradually within the hostage story, we find universal themes of
motherly love and the power of relationship between a mother and her child. The
novel wasn’t also about how they escape from captivity; it takes further
steps to show how they take on freedom that more or less confines them to fresh
rooms.

It is very tricky to adapt a novel that was entirely
narrated in first person perspective, to a film. In the book, despite Jack’s
innocent narrative we get a glimpse of 'ma' to grasp that everything isn’t as
great as Jack says. But, still Ma is kept at a distance, which isn’t possible
in a movie. Voice-overs could be done for the 5 year old boy, although Ma has
got be in all the frames. She can’t be sketch of Jack’s viewpoint. Within the
frames, the ‘room’ belongs to Ma as much it belongs to Jack. In writing the
script for the movie, Donoghue perfectly understands this and along with excellent
direction and editing, the world or the ‘room’ is organically realized without
literalizing everything. Since camera is the default point-of-view for
characters, we often see Jack overhearing conversations and glimpsing through
slats in the closet, etc. It is a perspective that is an obvious cliche in
movies, but director Lenny Abrahamson gets more subtle with his approach in the
second part of ‘Room’, when Jack sees world from a vantage point.

Donoghue wisely keeps the genuine childlike, filtered POV voice-overs
to mark significant occasions, especially to show the horrors and pains experienced
by ‘Ma’. Donoghue, the scriptwriter, must also be commended for not shifting
the perspective to Joy; or for not trying to achieve an emotional arc for Jack.
Opting for either of these elements would have made the film more sappy and
saccharine. The editing in the ‘room’ sequences is impeccable. If we closely
observe, we could see how Jack doesn’t get weary when days transform to night or
vice-versa because his whole word is the room (and kids bounce back easily),
whereas new days and nights wears upon ma, since she don’t know how much she
could take. So, these little film-making tricks along with stupendous central
performances (especially by Jacob Tremblay) doesn’t spoil the movie experience
of those who read the novel and it may have imbued a great experience for those
seeing it for the first time.

Obviously, there are quiet a few problems in the movie. It
is easy to predict the outcome of mother and son’s plight in both the book
& movie. But, since we shared more of Jack’s private world in the book, we
can perfectly understand his initial dilemmas and subsequent anxieties. And,
although the situation would only end in one way, Donoghue wringed enough tension out of the escape plan. Abrahamson’s “Room” somehow missed to built that
tension (however, it is understandable). And, yes many incidents are left out here
and there in the movie, which on the whole doesn’t damage the novel’s soul (in
the book, I immensely liked the endearing Jack’s trip to the mall). If you had loved
a story in its novel form, then it would be little hard for a movie adaptation
to satisfy you (“Life of Pi” and “The Martian” are few of the recent movies
that didn’t work for me as much as the novels). But “Room”, the movie, excels
in three aspects: in not sensationalizing or wallowing in the misery of its
characters; in contemplating the banality of a huge world alongside the
complexity of a little room; and for being a universal (may be not-so-subtle) tale
about parenting.

For most of us, the world is a big room whose scope is
getting shrinked with new innovations and technologies, and yet we all have/had
these rooms which mean the world to us. For Jack, the world is room and room is the
world. Ma uses TV as a linguistic coach; teaches him reading and writing (in
the book, there is said to be five children books in the ‘room’); and exercises
to prepare him for a day he will enter the outer world for real. But, in caring
for the child within the limited world, she has lied/saved him the cruel truth
of the world/room. All of our parents and we, to our children have/will tell
things that in turn creates our vision of a world. And, at gradual stages, they/we
re-explain the so-called ‘truths’ to fit into our current world vision or
condition. “Room” takes that basic experience of parenting to create mother/son
relationship entrenched in a dispirited world/room, which for Jack isn’t that
bad at all. Towards the end of the film, during a little conversation with his
grandma about ‘room’, Jack says “sometimes, I miss it”, for which Grandma asks ‘wasn’t
it awfully small?’ Jack replies “It went every direction, all the way to the
end. It never finished. And ‘ma’ was always there” These are one of the most
genuine and beautiful words in the film, which implies our general desire to be
in an enclosed place with our loved ones – the little place which becomes our
perfect shared universe. The sense of expansion and love, the ‘room’ diffused
on Jack is something he misses in the real, yet enclosed world (and, this only
irks Joy aka ‘Ma’ because all she wants to do is forget is that room/world). Alas,
we all must break free from our little universes/space (however good it is) to
search for fresh experiences. Jack gets that truth in the end. With a sense of
optimism and ‘Joy’, he says ‘goodbye’ to the objects in previous world/room (which now
looks ‘shrinked’ for him), and like all of us, he might traverse through little
world/rooms to live what’s called as real life.

Movies and literature generally tend to infuse
copious amount of sentimentality in designing the parent-child relationship.
Donoghue script as well as the book isn’t totally free of sentimentality, but
it never be accused of being banal. The asymmetric nature of parent-child bond
is finely etched out in both the forms. Ma is always worrying for Jack in the ‘room’
and that feeling isn’t reciprocated by Jack. As a child, we might have known or
understood our parents, but we learn to love them as time stretches. The sense
of love Jack shows in the ‘room’ (which arises from dependency too) and outside
the ‘room’ essentially differs. In the outside, the symbiotic relationship
between the two takes up a more emotional perspective, because in that world ‘Ma’
needs ‘Jack’ more than ever. The non-cutesy portrayal of Jacob Tremblay’s Jack
is luminous source for keeping away ‘Ma’ from sinking into despair. And,
vitally all these gleaming and contemplative elements in the film wouldn’t have
had much of an impact if not for the acute direction, which apart from showing few
tightening of a lip or stricken side-way glances, never tries to manipulate our
emotions.

“Room” (2015) celebrates our amazing capacity to take care
of each other. With love and hope we can create a world out of a small room.
And, ‘love’ is definitely worth surviving for.

Norwegian scriptwriter Eskil Vogt’s directorial debut “Blind”
(2014) explores the tragedy and panic induced by sudden blindness. Yeah, the
description might make you evaluate this film as a melodramatic tale of
affliction. No, it’s not that kind of movie. Of course, the characters within the movie's frames are
afflicted, but the mechanics of storytelling and aesthetic sense are constructed in
a way that never gives us a feeling of watching a melodrama. How do you
represent blindness through cinematic means? How can one ever learn about inner
lives and imaginations of a person who had lost their vision? The film-makers
could obviously open or cut with black screen to indicate the character’s
blindness and then fill the black frames with sounds & voices, which is how the
common cinematic language to exhibit loss of vision works. But, why should a
film-maker, while taking up a subjective approach to portray visual impairment
on screen, takes away that particular person’s visual imaginations and fantasy?
“Blind” is all about feeling & witnessing the mental image of a woman who
had recently lost her eyesight.

On one hand, it respectfully deals with the subject of
blindness, while on the other hand, it works as an exploration of our
loneliness and inner fantasies (which could be cruel and dirty as well). The
movie opens with Ingrid (Ellen Dorrit Petersen), a woman in her thirties,
narrating to us the daily challenges and fears she faces due to her affliction.
When Ingrid’s husband Morten (Henrik Rafaelsen) leaves to work, she retreats to
a window in her nondescript, sparsely furnished Oslo apartment. She listens to
music, sips tea and waits till her husband arrives back from work. During those long
periods, Ingrid only has her thoughts to entertain. In the opening frames,
Ingrid tells us that she has to keep her imagination and memory fresh by
visualizing peoples, places and little details (“It’s not important what’s real
if I can visualize it clearly” says Ingrid). It is a harmless exercise to keep
away the boredom, since Ingrid doesn’t seem to have no intention to go out.
She keeps on thinking that her husband often sneaks inside from work to watch
her sitting near the window. And, just like that her imaginations run wild.

The story cuts to life of Einar (Marius Kolbenstvedt),
narrated by Ingrid, a lonely porn-obsessed guy. He follows beautiful woman with
long hairs. There is a sense of empathy in the way Einar’s life is narrated so
that he can’t be labeled as ‘creep’. Einar is fascinated by his neighbor Elin
(Vera Vitali), a pretty single mother. Elin’s plight is also explained by the
narrator, who seem to be as lonely and frustrated as Einar and Ingrid. Soon,
Ingrid’s mounting anxiety about depending on her husband reaches a threshold
point, which appears to reshape the autonomous lives of Einar and Elin. The premise
at first might look like a typical non-linear story, although “Blind” more or
less goes through Charlie Kaufman or Michael Gondry territory.

Director Eskil Vogt had previously dealt with the subject of
urban loneliness in his script for Joachim Trier’s excellent drug-addiction
drama “Oslo, August 31”. With “Blind” he takes on theme of solitude further by accommodating an irrepressible condition like blindness. But, unlike ‘Oslo’, the
characters and their actions in ‘Blind’ don’t move in a strictly scripted
environment. Director/writer Vogt relies more on fantasies and wild
imaginations in this film to explore the subconscious of his central subject.
On the outset, this is a simple tale of a woman’s personal journey, facing the
inner demons and accepting the disability. But, the way Vogt delves into
deepest desires & pains of Ingrid with mischievous manipulation and
meta-approach keeps us captivating till the end.Vogt brings out a marvelous tone of
claustrophobia, which is bit hard to shake off. The director employs beautiful
close-ups to capture Ingrid’s reaction and to create a unique subjectivity.
Instead of making the woman living in darkness, Vogt constantly shows us her
mental image and how she is constantly imagining her surroundings. The
intricacy the film-maker brings with his visuals and characterization could
better be explained with few spoilers.

Spoilers Ahead

Two contradictory fears afflict Ingrid’s persona: the fear
of being alone without a husband or a family; and the fear of bearing
responsibility for a child. And, as she forms the fictional spirit of Elin, she
sends both these fears into the character in equal measures. Elin is socially
awkward (uses bad combinations of dress and make-ups), suffers humiliations by
men and is left alone. The current childlessness factor makes Ingrid to
oscillate between choosing a boy and a girl (Kim) for Elin. Ingrid also transforms
Elin to be the woman who is secretly dating her husband Morten. And, at that
point, she inflicts cruel things on Elin: making her blind; one-night stand
turns into pregnancy; her privacy is compromised by a loud text-message reader.
The same morbid thought of fumbling for connection is dealt with Ingrid’s
imaginary Einar. ‘Will I ever be able to touch a person? Would the isolation
bring my life to a halt?’ – These are the questions that haunt Ingrid in
forming Einar, but the significant aspect of this character is infusing the
sexual thoughts (including dirty fetishism). And, it is actually rare to see a
woman on-screen, realizing her sexual thoughts.

Despite the thought that has gone into the characterization
of these three central personalities, two aspects make it a perfectly realized
movie: the robust emotional foundation; and the inventive visual cues that blur
the line between reality and imagination (the film warrants a second time
viewing just for these visuals). There’s humor in the way coffee shop
mysteriously turns into a bus and vice-versa. However, these visual elements
don’t become distracting and moreover provides some excellent tranquil &
ponderous moments. In the scene, when Ingrid wants to arouse her husband in
bed, she imagines him, eagerly waiting and smiling at her. But, in reality he
is just checking his mails in the lap-top, ignorant of those smiles. It is one
of the film’s heartbreaking scenes that show how Ingrid’s mental images often
mis-matches with reality. Later, when she says in a pleading tone to her husband,
“When I smile at you, I don’t know that you see it”, we can’t stop from
thinking about how Mr. Vogt have intelligently brought us into the interior
life of visually impaired woman.

Yet, “Blind” isn’t only about the state of blindness. It
works as a scrutiny on human perceptions, on our loneliness, on how weird,
dirty things boil inside us, on how our online culture diffuses lot of things
to see, but only little to feel. It could also be about our relentless pursuit
to search for some solace that isn’t really there. Within its nesting-doll
narrative, the film reflects on how self-acceptance is more vital than
self-pity. The situations exhibited here might be so unique, but some of the
fears Ingrid faces are startlingly universal. All the performances don’t
disappoint us even in the slightest moments. As Ingrid, Petersen flawlessly
brings out wicked sense of humor and genuine anxiety.

“Blind” (95 minutes) offers an impactful and empathetic
visual presentation to explore the inner world of a woman who can no longer
see. The questions and the emotions the film lays out are absolutely universal.